


Possession

by CruelKittenThesis



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Boys Love Spoilers (Hatoful Kareshi), Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Erotic Grotesque, Eye Trauma, Gore, Hatoful Boyfriend: Holiday Star Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Imprisonment, M/M, Yandere, eye socket fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelKittenThesis/pseuds/CruelKittenThesis
Summary: The King loves and hates Hitori more than anything in the world. Written for DivineShark, and posted with permission.





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, it's bad to imprison someone and finger their eye sockets.

The world was a cruel, cold place. That is what The King had always felt, and what he had always known. He never had any friends, any light, or any real love. At least, that's how he had felt until he had met him. That wonderful person with the sad, dark eyes, and the warmest smile. That wonderful, terrible man fed him the sweetest lies, and for a little while, made his miserable, useless life worth living, but then, he had stolen in all away. The King remembered, all too well, the painful coldness of the lonely floor, and the way that awful criminal had smiled at him, as he stole everything.

 

It had never, ever, rained before that man came to the Holiday Star. The disgusting, bitter rain full of the horrible memories of his previous life, cruel and sad, just like the rain on the day they had met. The King hated rain, it was too painful, too frightening. The rain this man had brought only proved he was a bad, bad person, who threatened to destroy this happy world, with his cruelty.

 

That's why The King had to locked him away from everyone, and everything. Such a cruel, dangerous criminal needed to be kept away from the citizens. This terrible murder needed to be punished, deserved to be punished, to be hurt over and over. It was for the good of everyone, and everything, that he be locked away.

 

A hot feeling, green and violent, like the putrid, stinging, vomit he'd thrown up the last night of his life, struck The King as he made his way to the room where the nameless traitor, the man formally known as Uzune Hitori, was being kept. There was no door to this room, no pathway, it existed in a dark space away from the rest of the planet.

 

He slipped through the shadows, into the room away from everything. The room, itself, was barren. The only piece of furniture was a futon in the center of the room. It was not brightly adorned, like the rest of the Holiday Star, with bright, saccharine colors and jewels. It was just a simple, beige futon, with a simple comforter, and two white pillows.

 

The traitor, the horrible man, was sitting on the center of the futon, his eyes gently shut. He was leaning, slightly, having fallen asleep. He looked innocent and soft, as pretty as he had looked when he committed murder. As The King walked towards him, the man lifted he head, and yawned.

 

“Oh, Hello there,” he smiled, “Sorry, I can't see you.” He opened his eyes to reveal blood, empty sockets.

 

“The King asked, where are your eyes?” The King spoke, leaning forward.   
  


“Oh,” The man tilted his head, “I ate them.”

 

The King was irritated, he wanted this man to see him, “The King wants to know why you ate your eyes.”

 

The man just continued to smile, as if discussing the weather, “If I ate my mouth, I would die, so I ate my eyes.”

 

The King glared at him, “Do you know who The King is?”

 

The man nodded, “Of course, you're the ruler of the Holiday Star. It's nice to meet you, your Highness.” A few drops of blood dripped out of his eye sockets, and dropped gently onto the futon, staining it.

 

“You've never met The King, before?” The King asked, gradually moving closer and closer to the nameless man.

 

The man hummed, and tilted his head, pausing for a moment, before speaking, “I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I can't say I've ever met you before.” He smiled, “Or, well, if we have met, it was so long ago, that I've completely forgotten.”

 

The King growled, enraged, “You've made The King very angry. You did something very bad. The King will punish you for your crime. The King with never, ever let you out of here.”

 

Angry, misshapen arms, almost inhuman looking, like a garden of colorful, dead plants, sprouted out of The King. They stretched, forward and grabbed at the criminal in front of them. They gripped his arms, and threw him down, pressing him into the futon.

 

The man did not resist, simply faced The King, smiling, as blood continued to drip slowly out of his empty sockets, running down his face like tears. The dark, eyeless space bore into The King. He hated the blank space, the awful dark void, where that man's eyes should be, that seemed to stare into his core, without ever seeing him. He wanted the man's old eyes back. He wanted _Hitori's_ eyes back, those dark, lovely eyes, that used to look at him, and make him feel like he had ever been worth something.

 

The King was crying, he was so angry, so hurt, “The King hates you. The King hates you so much.” Hot, heavy tears splashed onto the face of the man who had once been called Uzune Hitori, “The King will punish you for your crimes.” The King glared, his very glance altering reality.

 

The man lurched, squirming in pain, as shock-waves of intense burning flowed into the pit of his stomach. He gasped for air. He felt sick, and he heaved, the burning pain only growing inside of him. The King let go of the man, and he rolled to the side, clutching his abdomen.

 

The King reached a gloved hand to the man in front of him, and stroked his fake blond hair. He hated this hair, dry and bleached, nothing like the warm, dark hair he used to have. This fake hair disgusted The King, but whether from the betrayal, or because it reminded him of his own repulsive, ugly hair, he could not say.

 

He watched the man shake, and sweat, he was near the point of vomiting. The King smiled, cold and knife-like, “The King thinks that you should please not try and throw up. The King thinks it will only hurt more.”

 

The King watched him heave for a moment more, before speaking again, “The King wonders if you remember your crime?”

 

The sickening pain that had plagued the man, quickly flowed away, like a wave, and he found himself able to breathe again. He smiled, which was a lie in itself, “I think I remember.” He let out a breath, “I hurt someone.” He paused for a moment, “I hurt the most important person to me.” More blood flowed out of those, ugly, empty sockets, as he spoke again, “Because of me, the most important to me is gone.” He stopped smiling, “He went somewhere faraway. He went somewhere so far he can never come back home again.”

 

The King smiled in delight, and opened his mind to read the man's memories, “The King is happy you've remembered your crime. Remembrance is the first step towards being able to feeling guilt, which is the first step to repenting for your sins. The King wants you to not worry, because, even though you will be punished, everyone is always very happy on the Holiday Star.”

 

He searched the man's memories. They were hazy, gray things, whirling inconsistently, like a violent storm. After a moment, he was able to see a few images. He saw two boys sitting in a field. The taller one gazed upon the younger boy, with a warm look. His dark eyes were full of absolute adoration for the smaller boy, who looked so frail, that too harsh of a touch would cause him to shatter into pieces.

 

The next memory was the older boy, all alone, in a room. Just waiting, waiting for things that would never come, things that would never happen. Just a letter that said, “I'm fine.” Pure loneliness.

 

The last memory was of fire. Toxic and burning, all around, licking up and eating everything around it, spewing black smoke in a wake of destruction. In the center of the flames, was the small boy. The flames were hot enough to melt his glass body, engulfing his green hair as if it were leaves. He felt pain, intense pain, burning pain, a pain so great he would never recover.

 

The King searched the man's memories, raking through them, but he was never able to find himself. There was only one name in Hitori's memories: Nageki. Nageki, Nageki, Nageki. The name repeated over, and over, like a mantra. Nageki, the sick boy with a shy smile. Nageki, the boy with skin like paper, so delicate, so easily destroyed. Nageki, burned into dust.

 

The King hated Nageki. Nageki had stolen everything from him. He was dead because of Nageki. Everything was Nageki's fault. He hated Nageki. Nageki should die. Nageki should disappear.

 

The King cried out, a high pitched shriek, and stabbed his fingers into the bleeding sockets of that man. He wiggled them, feeling the blood squish around his fingers, like an overeager child fingering a pie. Many eyes appeared on The King's own face, like an angry field of flowers, watching Hitori squirm in discomfort and pain, as he straddled him, penetrating him with his fingers.

 

He pulled out his fingers out, and licked off the syrupy, red blood. It was salty and bitter, and it stained his lips. He wished, dearly, that the man still had eyes, so that he could gouge them out. It was a delightful thought, to be the last thing Hitori laid eyes on.

 

The King would never let Hitori go. He never deserved to be free, and The King would make it so that he only ever though about him, and never about that, awful thief of a bird again. He would keep him to himself, for ever and ever and ever. Because nothing ever ends on the Holiday Star. Here, love can be eternal and everlasting.

 

The King smiled, “Even though you are such a horrible person, The King is so good and compassionate, he loves you. He will take good care of you, even though you're such a bad person, that you must be kept away from everyone else. The King loves you, even though you hurt him.”

 

Hitori simply shut his eyes again, his own thoughts and memories a blurry swirl, “I understand.”

 

The King's smile grew larger, predatory, from the tiny kitten mewing for any affection, to the lion who tears apart the leopards who intrude upon his territory, “The King will punish you now, but also love you, because The King is very kind to everyone, even traitors like you.”

 

The King pulled off Hitori's clothes, angrily tossing them to the side. They were an imitation of his old clothes, only nicer, neater, just like the rest of this persona, a superior copy. Hitori always could do everything better than The King, even be a better “Nanaki Kazuaki.”

 

Hitori's body was as it was back when he was still just Hitori, the Hitori, who Kazuaki thought loved him. His body was very fit, slender, but strong, and covered in painful cuts, some fresh, some older and faded. When he was alive, The King loved those cuts, they seemed like a bond between the two of them, because only they could understand the pain of the world. Now, he hated them, realizing they were only a bond between Hitori and Nageki.

 

Carefully, The King touched a gloved hand to a fresh cut, pressing down on it, staining his own white glove with a blooming flower of red. He leaned down, and kissed Hitori, softly, like a prince trying to wake a princess from a long slumber.

 

Hitori's eyelids opened, but he did not respond beyond his vacant non-stare. In the dim light, his hair looked as it should, lovely dark brown. The King kissed him again, deeply, passionately rolling their tongues together. His intense love and hatred for the man under him blended together and he moaned into the kiss, only to be met with apathy. Hitori matched his movements, but with no feeling, pure detachment.

 

The King was angry. He wanted to imprint himself in Hitori, embed himself in his memories so he'd never be forgotten. He would force himself to be remembered. He sat up and stripped himself of his robes, and pulled away his many arms and eyes. He looked almost human, almost like his old self.

 

He reached under the futon and pulled out a bottle of lubricant. He coated his fingers in the slick liquid. He hummed, and pressed two into Hitori.

 

Hitori hissed, and The King smiled, “You should be happy that The King is so kind to prepare you. He could have just fucked you dry.” He moved his fingers quickly, stretching him, painfully. After a moment, he pulled them out again.

 

“The King wants to know if you're ready,” The King said as he positioned himself.

 

Hitori nodded, “I am.”

 

The King poured more lubrication on his dick, and thrust himself inside, letting out a moan as he did so. It was tight, almost too tight, but he pushed himself fully inside. He did not give Hitori a moment to adjust, before pulling out and shoving himself in again.

 

Hitori groaned, but made no effort to respond to the assault on his body. It hurt, but, The King was correct, he had done a horrible thing, and he did deserve to be punished. Everything, for him, felt muted, dull. He could feel both pain and pleasure from the sex, but it felt far away, as if he was dreaming. His eyes itched, and he wished he could scratch at the hole they used to be, but he figured The King would not appreciate that, so he remained still.

 

The King kissed him, almost sweetly, before pulling back and biting his his lips until they started to bleed. He licked at them, relishing the taste, as if it was candy. He drew his head back and bit down, hard, on Hitori's neck, drawing more blood. The King wanted to brand him, mark him, own him. He continued to leave numerous bites all over Hitori's neck and face, all while thrusting into him as hard as he could.

 

The love and hatred for Hitori bled into one desire to posses him. The King moaned, loudly, sweat and blood dripping off his face. He reached down and stroked Hitori's neglected, shaking when he heard him respond with soft, breathy moans.

 

Hitori came, coating The King's hand in white. His body twitched in renewed sensitivity, and he groaned, sore and tired.

 

The King yelled, the twitching, writhing body under him was too much for him to handle and he came. He pulled out and roll off, his own body feeling hyper sensitive. He started to cry, and pulled Hitori's body into his arms.

 

He rubbed his face in the fake blond hair of his partner, and desperately wished it was brown. “Do you remember me?” His voice just a muffled sob.

 

Hitori placed an arm around the man holding him, and gently patted his back, but did not answer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, feel free to contact me on Twitter: Lilithkitty, or Tumblr: sakurazuka-subaru. I'm always in birb hell.


End file.
